Heaven on Earth

This story was passed on to me from my mom, who was told by her mom.

My ex-uncle Terry has remarried, but is still really close with my grandma. His new wife has a couple of children. One of her boys was in the same class as a girl who recently died in a house fire. When the teachers were telling the class what happened, they said that she wouldn't be coming to class any more because she went to live in a house in heaven. After this, as my ex-uncle and his step-son were driving out to my grandma's house, I guess the little boy asked which house was the little girl living in. For him, that is heaven, with the trees and the flowers and the space to run.

I would like to meet this little boy who thinks where I grew up is heaven. Because when I was his age, I probably thought the same thing. I never wanted to leave. My mom still makes fun of my 6-year-old self, when I was convinced I wanted to live in my parents' house forever. Even now, I love going back to my parents' house, if only to see the land, however much it's been mangled. (My dad's convinced he needs an enormous corn field and has taken out a large part of the woods. Of course, the corn field never happened, and I can't convince him to plant native grasses/flowers and turn it into a mini-prairie. Not to mention the logging. Ugh.) That place, that land, is as much a part of me as my foot or arm. It was the home I grew up in, the home that shaped me, not the house. I hope that when I start my teaching career, that I'll be able to move back. Not to my parents' home (because that would be awkward), but to the Ozarks. I miss the hills and the trees and the rivers that run clean and clear. Ah, and now I'm homesick. Great!

Oh, yes, shame on those teachers for assuming the religion of their students.